


More Bitey

by ElDiablito_SF



Series: The Fabulous Adventures in Immortality of the Vampire Aramis and the Man Who Named the Mountain, Volume V, Missing Scenes [6]
Category: Immortality AU - Fandom, Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Halloween Costumes, M/M, The Grigori's life is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: It is All Hallow's Eve and Athos has a really brilliant costume idea, which Grimley is only too happy to help him with!  What could possibly go wrong?  We can't imagine!





	More Bitey

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween Audience! We miss you and wanted to treat you to something REALLY SILLY. (Despite the fact that the world is totally still ending, now more than ever.)

“Grimley!” His Kyrios’ voice carried down the stairs like peals of thunder. “Grimley, you scoundrel! I said get me something nice. What is this? _Polyester_?” His Lord and Master shoved a bundle of black cloth into the Grigori’s hands.

“But Kyrios will want to blend in,” the domestic replied stoically, unfurling the cape in his hands. “This, Sir, is the finest cape for the kind of escapades you… um… have in mind, no doubt.” Aside, Grimley muttered under his breath, “It isn’t as if you’ll ever even make it out of the house.” A mutter still loud enough for his Master to hear.

“What’s that, gnat?”

“The good gentlemen at the Castro party will doubtlessly be more interested in what’s _under_ the cape,” Grimley replied, undaunted.

“It is All Hallow’s Eve, Grimley, take this seriously,” Athos frowned. “And I’m not a stripper.”

“Halloween, Kyrios,” Grimley smiled. “No one calls it All Hallow’s Eve any--”

“Silence!” Athos tapped the cloth in the Grigori’s hands. “Get me black velvet. With red silk underneath. I won’t have this crude monstrosity touching me, not even through my shirt.”

Grimley sighed. “Of course, Kyrios, we wouldn’t want you to develop any Olympian _hives_.”

“I can hear you rolling your eyes,” Athos said even as his back was turned.

“I do believe Sir will be very pleased with the special accoutrement I got him, however,” Grimley added slyly. He produced a little box from his pocket and presented it to his willful charge with gleeful anticipation. “This is what I believe you would have once called the _pièce de résistance_.”

“Cockamamey!” Athos said, taking the box into his hands. “I never would have uttered such drivel. _Oh…_ ” Athos crushed the cardboard with his nimble fingers, pulling the plastic accessory from inside.

Grimley averted his eyes, lest he witness something that would make even the most staunch of the Grigorim blush: a genuine moment of youthful exuberance.

“This is excellent, Grimley!” Athos declared. “Well done, indeed! Now,” he twirled the gift between his fingers, “how do I put it on?”

“Ahem,” Grimley muttered with a satisfied blush as he approached his hopeless idiot with trepidation. “I believe you just open your mouth and slide them in.” He paused, looking about their domicile for any sign of trouble. “I’m sure your beloved would be more than happy to show you.”

Athos laughed, a delighted laugh that made the crystal strings of the chandelier jingle with accompanying glee.

“Don’t tell Aramis,” he said, bounding up the stairs two at a time, like a child with a new toy.

***

His Flitterbattiness was in the boudoir, attending to his own toilet with the meticulousness given to his innate vanity. Grimley would have made himself scarce, except that he was not above vanity himself, or rather pride in his skills which he had dutifully applied in the service of making his Kyrios unrecognizable earlier that evening. The flat iron was still cooling on the granite countertop, next to his brushes and paints.

“Stand still, Kyrios, you are as yet several shades too tan for your chosen abomination. Er… apparition.”

“Scamp!”

“I need to make the circles around your eyes darker. You do not look quite malnourished enough.”

“Unrepentant pig!”

“I might burn you with the flat iron if you don’t stop wiggling, Kyrios.”

“Vile torturer!”

It had been worth it, even if Grimley proclaimed it so himself. He would behold the reaction of his Black Popishness to his artful rendering, even if it did lead to what he suspected would be quite a bit of clean up in his future. Grimley twirled the feather duster in his hands and pretended to wage a veritable war on the furniture as he waited for his Master’s inevitable approach.

The Thing from the Wallachian Underbelly, and Grimley used the term lovingly, was artfully arranging his cherubic curls around his equally (if deceptively) cherubic face. It _was_ rather cherubic, Grimley had to admit, for he had oft seen mere mortals burst into flames upon beholding Cherubim before. His Undead Bloodsuckiness had also had a similar effect on people, even if they didn’t so much burst into flames as withered slowly into a diseased state or shriveled from desiccation.

At last, his moment of glory was upon him, as Grimley remarked his Master sneaking into the room, shrouded in a long, black velvet cape, with a high collar that obscured his white, painted cheekbones.

“You’re not seriously going to drag me out into the throng tonight, are you?” his Infernal Leechness groused, without turning about, no doubt smelling the divine presence. “I know you like to play dress up, but that’s why we have a dungeon right here in the house.”

Athos unfurled the cape and declaimed with as much drama and his Greek birthright imbued in him, “I fant to shuck your bwuuuuud!”

“ _What_?” Aramis twirled about on his rotating stool. Grimley held his breath. Athos hissed through the plastic accessories in his mouth. “What in the nine circles of Hell is _that_!”

“Teef!” Athos declared through a fit of giggles. He then popped the fake fangs out of his mouth and clicked them in the revenant’s direction between his fingers, making what amounted to gormless bites at the air. “Do you like them?”

His Demonic Unholiness choked from indignation and unfurled to his full height upon legs that veritably shook from pique. “Is this some kind of a sick joke? What exactly do you think you’re going as?”

“I thought that was rather self-evident. I’m going as you!” Athos replied and laughed again. Grimley shook his head. His Kyrios really _was_ asking for a beating of Olympic proportions. (He really did hate to agree with the Abomination but…) _The deviant._

“And _why_ , pray tell, is your hair straight?” Aramis inquired, trembling with growing rage.

“That was Grimley’s idea. He said I didn’t look vampiric enough.”

“I see,” Aramis said with the kind of coolness that came over him in times when he was just about to slaughter a small township. (Although it had been a while since Grimley had experienced the distinct displeasure of beholding such a rampage.)

Athos, in the meantime, popped the fake teeth back into his mouth and grinned at his consort with both rows of unwieldy fangs. “You know you can’t reshisht me!” he pronounced, clicking the plastic rows together for his husband’s benefit.

“That’s preposterous! Why do you have lower fangs as well as upper fangs!”

“Mo’ bitey?” Athos shrugged his voluminous cape.

“I don’t _have_ lower fangs!”

“You don’t? Lemme shee.”

“Grimley!” the good doctor shouted and the Grigori appeared before him like the very picture of false meekness and modesty.

“You called, Master Aramis?”

“I need you to help me ready my _own_ outfit for tonight!”

“Oh, _goodie_!” the Grigori exclaimed.

***

“I wish Doctor Flitterbatt didn’t have to destroy the curtains out of sheer spite,” Grimley fussed, hemming and adorning like a spider possessed of eight limbs. “I could have stolen the fuck blanket from Kyrios to complete your look. It would’ve looked more authentic and also complemented your eyes.”

“How?” Aramis snarled, looking himself over in the mirror.

“Gold always brings out that which is black as night.”

“Thank you,” Aramis frowned and adjusted the helmet atop his head.

Grimley had not meant it as a compliment, per se, but the Bishop of Vain really didn’t need to be goaded anymore in his current state of agitation.

“How do I look?” Aramis asked, his descendent and very real fangs gleaming underneath the electrical lights.

Sadly, before Grimley could make a suitably acerbic response, they were disrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come along, Aramis! My hair is starting to curl again and this damned makeup is beginning to run!”

His Kyrios strode into the room, the velvet cape trailing him in a dramatic swoosh. He halted in his path when he beheld the Flittermousian vision. The false fangs dropped from his mouth and landed on the rug with quiet resignation.

“Well?” Aramis turned to face him. “If you’re going as _me_ , then I’m going as your brother!”

Grimley took a shy look askance, at the man wearing nothing but a repurposed curtain slung carelessly about his shoulders along with a gleaming helmet, and sporting (blessedly) only half an erection.

“Which brother?” Athos asked, genuinely stunned.

“Does it _matter_?” Aramis sniped back.

“You can’t!” Athos motioned weakly towards the Grigori’s soon to be wasted efforts.

“Why not?” Aramis stepped forward. “Is it not historically accurate enough?”

“You’ll get arrested! Before we even _get_ to the Castro party! And I don’t fancy starting a small war to rescue you!”

“Well, if I’m not leaving the house looking like this, then neither are you!” Grimley averted his eyes from the sight of capes twirling in a spontaneous tornado, then two bodies falling to the newly cleaned Persian rug, his brilliant _pièce de résistance_ crushed beneath their combined weight. The Grigori sighed. It was certainly not the first time so much of his efforts had all turned out to be for naught. It was just another thing to add to the litany of suffering in his diary, to be shared later at the Annual Grigori Holiday Party.

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the Castro Party! Now, you recall the Disgustoids would've been living in the Bay Area around this vague time. Halloween, or as the gays call it - Gay Christmas, used to be wildly and I mean WILDLY celebrated in San Francisco. It no longer happens for reasons that are too depressing to enumerate, but it lasted well into the 2000s. The point being, Flitters would've been FINE at the Castro Party in his historically accurate Achaean attire. Athos was just being a total prude! And if any policeman tried to arrest Flitters for indecent exposure on the way to the party, I'm sure he would've very calmly explained to the good officer that he was actually already wearing pants, in his most soothing voice. [Like this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CE8R2tz3CnU)


End file.
